The Gospel Coalition

In his Of Plymouth Plantation, 1620-1647, William Bradford describes how the Pilgrims cared for one another during that horrible first winter:

“But that which was most sad and lamentable was, that in two or three months’ time half of their company died, especially in January and February, being the depth of winter, and wanting houses and other comforts; being infected with the scurvy and other diseases which this long voyage and their inaccommodate condition had brought upon them. So as there died sometimes two or three of a day in the foresaid time, that of 100 and odd persons, scarce fifty remained. And of these, in the time of most distress, there was but six or seven sound persons who, to their great commendations, be it spoken, spared no pains night nor day, but with abundance of toil and hazard of their own health, fetched them wood, made them fires, dressed them meat, made their beds, washed their loathsome clothes, clothed and unclothed them. In a word, did all the homely and necessary offices for them which dainty and queasy stomachs cannot endure to hear named; and all this willingly and cheerfully, without any grudging in the least, showing herein their true love unto their friends and brethren; a rare example and worthy to be remembered.”

Quoted in Samuel Eliot Morison’s edition, page 77.

Somewhere years ago — I can’t remember the specifics — John Piper pointed out something in Acts 20:19 that I had never noticed before. Paul explains how he served the Lord: “. . . serving the Lord . . . with tears . . . .”

“Serving the Lord with tears.” Amazing.

The life in Christ, though wonderful, sometimes becomes tearful as well. But the Lord Jesus receives every tear as service to himself. Let that realization become a divine kiss on every tear-stained cheek.

“In the incarnation of God we do not suppose that he undergoes any debasement, but we believe that the nature of man is exalted.” Anselm, Why God Became Man, chapter VIII

We thank you, Lord.

Anybody ever raise that objection when you’re explaining the gospel? “But what you’re getting from the Bible — it’s just your interpretation. Why should I or anyone else believe that?”

This objection aims to dismiss your truth-claims as overrated. It’s a strategy for leveling out all assertions as no more than mere personal opinions: “You say to-may-to, I say to-mah-to.”

Here are some things to keep in mind.

One, stay focused on what C. S. Lewis called “mere Christianity” — the core truths of the gospel that are super-clear in the Bible. Avoid pet doctrines and denominational nuances. Your unbelieving friend might be throwing this objection out there because you really are advocating just a personal hunch.

Two, validate the objection, then neutralize it. “Sure, there’s interpretation in what I’m saying. But no one can know anything without interpreting it, without running it through the sieve of personal understanding. It’s like the sunlight shining through a stained-glass window. The colors show up, but the light is still real and the sun is really out there. So okay, you’re getting the gospel through me, and I’m not very good at this. Big deal. The point is, it isn’t JUST my interpretation. There is truth in what I’m saying.”

Three, make the truth personal, and offer it personally to your friend. “I always have to watch myself, to minimize the distortion-factor in my thinking about Christ. So, thank you for reminding me of that. But here’s what I can’t get away from. As I read the Bible, the reality of Christ comes storming through to me so clearly I just can’t dismiss that power as an ‘interpretation.’ I have to deal with him, because he’s dealing with me. If you’d rather keep it safe, at the level of ‘interpretation,’ I don’t blame you. He is totally rocking my world. But here’s where I come down. I’d rather have him messing with me than lose him by treating him as an abstraction. His love is the only good thing in my life I’ll keep forever. Want to talk about that? Want to talk about what he can mean to you too?”

Some months ago I read The Cocktail Party by T. S. Eliot, which tells the story of some people — bright, intelligent, articulate — stumbling through life without God as the Fountainhead of all else. And they keep missing each other, too, speaking past each other. With real insight, Eliot has one character say,

“What has happened has made me aware that I’ve always been alone. That one is always alone. Not simply the ending of one relationship, not even simply finding that it never existed — but a revelation about my relationship with everybody. Do you know — it no longer seems worth while to speak to anyone!”

Without God in our lives, it’s not just that other relationships come and go. It’s that we have no certainty that we are really relating to anyone. Without God, we have no reason not to suspect that all “relationships” are mental constructs of our own making, all of it dark and manipulative and fraudulent.

But with God, the Triune God who overflows with love and delight, we find ourselves living in the most “relational” world imaginable. He is real and for us through Christ. He makes us real and for one another. With him, our love for one another is real. We are actually stepping, however haltingly, into the very love of God himself.

This is what you and I see in one another’s eyes. A wonder almost unspeakable.